


All is Calm

by Wisteria_Leigh



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Catholic, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, One Shot, Religion, Short & Sweet, midnight mass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisteria_Leigh/pseuds/Wisteria_Leigh
Summary: Ronan touched the wick of his candle to Adam’s, catching it aflame before catching Adam’s eyes. Adam was accustomed to Ronan’s reverential stare--of his body, of his mind, of his powers. But this was different. This look was that, but softer. Gentler. Thankful, even. No, not just thankful: it was gratitude beyond words.





	All is Calm

Adam went because Ronan asked him to.

Really what happened was Ronan came to Adam--who was sitting on Ronan’s bed at the Barns early on Christmas Eve--and said, with painfully forced indifference, “You can come with us, if you want,” while staring at his shuffling feet.

Adam had not spent five years studying Ronan Lynch to not be fluent in his unique expressions. He knew what that statement _actually_ meant.

So at 10:30pm that night, the orphaned Lynch boys, Ashley, and Adam piled into Declan’s obscene new Volvo and Ronan’s BMW and went to Mass.

Despite having lived in St. Agnes for one year, and having dated Ronan Lynch for four, Adam had never been to Mass. Religion & he had established a companionable yet determined indifference between them. Adam stepped through the Ponderosa Pine-lined doors of the chapel, nodding quietly to the greeters and shaking hands as the customs dictated, doing his best to look...not so much like he belonged (because there was an irreconcilable strangeness in his presence here, as full of magic and psychics and frowned-upon choices as he was) but more like he was an unquestioned extra in this scene. Someone who, if a group photo were taken, would exist in the photograph, framed and all, but remain unquestioned. Unnoticed. A man no one could name, but no one could refute as “didn’t belong”.

Ronan, however. Even in his black suit and deep scowl, hands shoved into pockets and greeting nods like shattered glass so sharp they could slice someone across the cheek, he looked like he belonged here. Among the candle staffs adorned with balsam and holly, in the richness of echoing organ chords and choir tones, his edges and shadows and _uncanniness_ looked a part of this world. He could slide into the shadows of the pews, stand by the altar as the priest broke bread, kneel before the statue of his savoir, and not look a bit out of place. Even on Christmas.

They sat in their pew. Ashley beside Declan, Declan beside Matthew, and Adam between the dream & his dreamer.

Adam was good at fitting in places he didn’t belong. Understanding rhythms and following patterns: careful observation took him far in life. Mass was no exception. And with a booklet of call-and-response, of each reading and hymn and action performed, it should have been the easiest of them all. But there was something missing. He could do everything asked of him, but he didn’t understand why. And as they kneeled and stood and sat and prayed, Adam felt that there was something just beyond his grasp. A comprehension that eluded him still.

They told the story of Christmas--a God-gifted child, a savior borne to humankind, a joyful story of birth and life that everyone already knew would end in tragedy--through passages and rituals, and through hymns and prayer. Adam did not sing. But he held the hymn book so he and Matthew and Ronan could share, and listened Ronan’s deep and careful timbre. And he was, for maybe the first time in his life, thankful for one deaf ear, so he could listen only to Ronan weave harmonies as well as the the choir could.

They shared the peace. Adam shook hands. Ronan did not.

The Lynch brothers went forward for communion. Adam and Ashley did not.

It was ten until midnight.

Ushers came forward, small votive candles in hand. One by one, they lit the candles of the person at the end of the row. As the organ prelude began, the lights traveled down each aisle.

Ronan touched the wick of his candle to Adam’s, catching it aflame before catching Adam’s eyes. Adam was accustomed to Ronan’s reverential stare--of his body, of his mind, of his powers. But this was different. This look was that, but softer. Gentler. Thankful, even. No, not just thankful: it was gratitude beyond words.

Adam swallowed, and lit Matthew’s candle.

They began to sing.

The choir, first, in Latin. Ronan sang, too, under his breath, bashful in a way Adam had never heard before. Then the rest joined in. The lights were dimmed until dark, until only the candles flickered.

The organ stopped. The song continued, voices only, in the dark and candlelit chapel, a minute until midnight.

In that moment, when the vaulted chapel ceiling was filled to bursting with song, as Adam heard the joyful noise with one ear and felt the vibrations in the other, he understood.

Adam looked at Ronan. In the golden shimmer of light, Adam saw a glimpse of Niall, before children, standing in a small chapel in Ireland. He saw Ronan, a baby, held on his father’s hip as he watched his father sing, “ _All is calm, all is bright_ .” He saw Ronan, young, between his dreamer father and dreamed mother, holding the candle for the first time. He saw Ronan with Matthew and Declan, the last Mass before their father died. He saw Ronan, puckered wounds still bandaged on his wrist, cheekbones damp with tears glistening in the firelight, voice trembling as he sang, “ _sleep in heavenly peace.”_ He saw Ronan, jittery knowing Adam was only a few feet up and to the left, their relationship still new, still untested, still cautious, Ronan waiting impatiently for the bell to toll so he could wake Adam from his restless sleep and kiss him with cold lips and snow-frosted hair. He saw Ronan now, healing still but happy, softer, the sharp angles of his cheekbones in the light more beautiful and godlike than Adam had ever seen them, singing, “ _Son of God, love’s pure light.”_

He saw Ronan years from now, standing in a different chapel, with a candle in one hand and a little girl on his hip, singing softly to her, “ _Jesus, Lord at thy birth.”_ And as the music fades into echoes and then into silence as gentle as freshly fallen snow, he turns to Adam and whispers “Merry Christmas, my love.”

The final chord. Like a starburst, the echoes dissolved into quiet.

Ronan looked at Adam, the faintest blush along his pale cheeks. He smiled. Adam smiled back.

The bells began to toll. The candles flickered. Christmas Eve fell into Day.

Christ, the Savior, was born.

The world was quiet.

Adam understood.

 

 

######

 

 

They left the chapel to flurries of snow. Nothing that would stick, but that didn’t matter for now.

Adam said hello to Mrs. Ramirez. Matthew joined Ashley & Declan in the Volvo.

Adam slipped into the passenger’s seat of the BMW. Ronan was quiet. Calm. Thoughtful. They sat for a moment, listening to Irish carols whisper through the speakers. They let the Volvo take off and waited until its lights disappeared.

Adam took Ronan’s hand on the gearshift.

“Thank you,” Ronan said softly, “for coming.”

Adam squeezed his hand. “Merry Christmas.”

Ronan smiled, and brought the back of Adam’s hand to his lips. “Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> A super quick, super short thing I wrote Christmas morning, after driving through the mountains of Virginia on Christmas Eve to get my friend from the train station & listening to Christmas Hymns to get a dose of Jesus that I still feel mandated to take every holiday & realizing that a candlelit midnight mass service was exactly the sort of thing that needed to be written today. 
> 
> Happy holidays!!


End file.
